


One Night at Baker Street

by TheLittleSparrow



Series: The Specialist Registrar and the Consulting Detective [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Sherlolly - Freeform, a very bad pun, chocolate biscuits, petri dishes, using a very irritating word
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-14
Updated: 2015-03-14
Packaged: 2018-03-17 20:09:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3542285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLittleSparrow/pseuds/TheLittleSparrow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock and Molly like working on experiments. It's late. And Molly is tired. And John is on a sex holiday. Again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One Night at Baker Street

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ridiculosity](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ridiculosity/gifts).



Molly Hooper stretches her arms as high above her head as they can go. Her eyes squeeze shut for a single blissfully painful moment during which the tension ebbs from her shoulder muscles. She wriggles her toes for a bit, waiting uncomfortably for the numbness to leave.

“Well, Sherlock,” she says, “I’d better be off.”

The consulting detective looks up at her from where he is stretched out on the floor along a row of suspicious looking petri dishes. He pouts and bats his eyelids at Molly beseechingly.

“But the cultures-”

“-will grow just fine regardless of whether or not I am here to watch their progress, Sherlock.”

Sherlock eyes her warily as she gets up from where she had been sitting cross-legged for the past three hours, unable to argue with her logic. Molly’s knees crack deliciously when she straightens her legs out, and her calves burn from the rush of blood.

“Molly!” Sherlock exclaims, “What if John-”

“John is in Jamaica on his second honeymoon, Sherlock. You know that. And anyway, he knows not to touch your experiments.”

Sherlock tosses a glare her way, muttering something that sounds suspiciously like, “Can’t be expected to keep track of all his _sex_ holidays.”

Molly chuckles softly and makes quick work of their dinner things. Sherlock slips them neatly out of her hands and into the rubbish bin, while she puts away all his medical texts just how he likes them – arranged by colour and then by height within each colour group.

When Sherlock returns with the chocolate cookies Mrs Hudson brought up a while ago, he finds Molly stretching once more and bending down to touch her toes. Her fingers barely brush the tops of her socks-clad feet, and she groans as her back muscles unclench.

“God Sherlock, let’s work in the morgue, next time. Or at the very least in your kitchen.”

“You said, Molly, and I quote,” says Sherlock, a distinct note of panic in his voice, “That ‘the kitchen is meant to create food in, Sherlock. Things that regular human beings can ingest without fear of death, illness, injury, or altered bodily functions, or any sort of harm, minor or otherwise.’ I didn’t think you’d want to work in the kitchen after that declaration, Molly. Is this one of those not-good things that John points out?”

“Oh,” breathes Molly, pleasantly surprised, “That’s... sweet of you Sherlock.”

There’s a silence as the two munch on their chocolate biscuits, each watching the other surreptitiously. Molly inhales once or twice, as if she plans to speak, but then thinks better of it. Until-

“Well, Sherlock. I really had better leave, now. Oh _no._ It’s the tube for me tonight. I don’t think I’ll get a cab now,” she adds with a dismayed glance at her watch.

“You know, Molly,” says Sherlock, in a quiet voice, “You _could_ just stay. Stay here, I mean.”

“Yeah, I’d kip under your kitchen sink, would I? Or maybe make up a nice bed in the loo?”

“Of course not!” Sherlock looks disgruntled by her suggestion and so he adds, “You’d sleep in my bed. With me.”

Molly merely smiles as she pulls on her red woollen gloves and buttons up her heavy coat. She leans over the neat row of petri dishes and gently kisses Sherlock on the cheek.

“Goodnight Sherlock. I had a lovely evening. Thank you,” she says cheerfully and makes her way down the stairs. Three steps down, and she could swear that she hears the consulting detective say, rather loudly, “Ah, Molly Hooper! I wish you’d stay – you put the ‘bae’ in Baker Street.”

She giggles a bit, and marvels at how ridiculous they’re being before continuing on her way into the cold London night. 

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by, I think, a Sherlock valentine or edit I saw on Tumblr. Nothing is mine, not even the pun. I merely wrote the fic. *sigh*


End file.
